


Grasp

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: To come so close only to finally move apart.(written 3 May 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Grasp

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> Anonymous asked: Here's a good Sherlolly prompt: "Yours to Hold" by Skillet... honestly, that one could easily be either of them talking to the other. :-)
> 
> Thank you for your prompt :) Such heartfelt lyrics! I got really sad writing this. Nevertheless, I hope you’ll still enjoy it, and that I did your song justice. x
> 
> “Don’t you know that I could be the one to hold you?”

**Grasp**

It was supposed to have been a simple night out. Molly, her good friend Meena, and a few other colleagues had decided to go out for drinks to celebrate the submission of a rather tedious quarterly report to their supervisor at the hospital. Molly did not know how it happened, but she had ended up at the side of the pub with a most intoxicated Meena hurling everything short of her kidneys into a ditch. Where her other friends had gone, she had not a clue. Some friends they were.

Between rubbing Meena’s back and offering her what was soon to be the last of her tissues, Molly would check her phone, desperate to see if Mary had replied. She had tried to call Mary for help but to no avail, and so ended up sending her multiple mayday texts. Sighing as she pulled out the remaining piece, the last thing Molly had expected was to find Sherlock Holmes standing behind her shoulder.

“I heard none of the cabs would take you,” he said, offering her a fresh pack of tissues from his inner coat pocket.   
“Oh God, thank you…” said Molly, reaching gratefully for the packet as she began hastily dabbing at Meena’s perspiring forehead.

To Molly’s surprise, Sherlock placed a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her away from her friend who was still crouched by the ditch.

“Tissues, please,” he asked, extending his hand to Molly. Molly grabbed a few pieces and handed them to the detective who continued what Molly had begun. He patiently wiped Meena’s brow and even the spit that dripped down her chin. While rubbing her back, he beckoned for Molly to help tie her hair up. By the time Molly had managed to get Meena’s hair up in a haphazard bun, Sherlock began to help Meena on to her feet.

“I believe her retching has stopped,” he said, helping Molly’s inebriated friend stumble out to the main road.   
“I certainly hope so,” Molly said, catching her breath and wiping her own sweat off her brow.   
“I’d already got us a cab,” he said, gesturing with his chin to the cab parked a few metres away from them.

With Sherlock’s help, Molly had managed to get Meena back to her flat. Luckily for Molly, Meena’s sister was back in town and staying with her. She swiftly took over and apologised profusely for the state Meena was in. Molly smiled and said it did not matter, and told her to take care. The detective and the pathologist, both exhausted and smelling of perspiration and sick, then headed gratefully back to the cab.

For a long while, the pair of them sat in silence. All that could be heard was soft music from the cabby’s radio and the hum of the engine.

“Mary called you, didn’t she?” Molly asked, glancing at him.

He smirked and nodded.

“Yu-p.”

Clearing his throat, he chose not to return her glance. Instead, he tilted his head, angling his gaze towards the window and out of the cab. 

“And you just…dropped everything?”

Molly regretted initiating conversation so late into their taxi ride. Before she could get an answer, the cab stopped.

“We’re here,” he said, getting out of the cab.

Sighing to herself, Molly stepped out, grateful to be getting some fresh air again. Sherlock was standing by her door, holding it open for her. When she was out, he stepped back inside and her heart could not help but sink a little bit. She had just turned away from the cab and began walking up when she heard the sound of the cab speeding off. She shook her head and smiled to herself.

What was she expecting?

She had not noticed, and she never usually did, that she had begun playing with the ring on her finger. It amused her how she would sometimes forget it was even there, and then other times feel its presence far too strongly. Tonight, it was a little bit of both. She had forgotten it was there, but only because she had momentarily forgotten what it was supposed to mean to her.

“Bit rude walking away like that, isn’t it?” came the voice of Sherlock Holmes, whose strides finally caught up with hers.   
“Oh, sorry I—“ she stopped in her tracks and turned to him, “Sorry, I’d thought you’d gone…”  
“I was paying the cabby,” he said with a quick smile as he patted his coat pocket.   
“Right, sorry…” she said with a small laugh.   
“Not a problem,” he answered, smiling again.

Together, and without a word, they slowly walked the length of the path that led to the foot of her building. There was a front door that led to the stairs to her flat. Sherlock opened it, and Molly walked right through, thanking him with a quiet smile. Silently, they took the two flights of stairs that led to Molly’s flat. She searched for her keys and opened her door successfully. After wiping her feet on the faded “Welcome” mat, she stepped into her tiny flat and had expected to hear footsteps follow behind. Instead, she found herself standing on the inside of her flat, with Sherlock on the other side and the doorway between them.

“Can I at least offer you a cup of tea or coffee or…” she asked, the keys jingling in her hand.

The detective smiled and kept his hands firmly in the two side pockets of his coat.

“I just wanted to see you home. Safe. That’s all.” he answered quietly. “That was what Mary wanted, anyway. To make sure you were safe.”  
“Right. And… I am, safe. Thank you.” Molly said, nodding.

It perplexed the detective how the ring always caught his eye. Everything was dark - the corridor was dark, her flat was dark, the night outside was dark. Yet, somehow, the ring always managed to catch the littlest light from somewhere God only knew and flicker right in his line of vision.

“Go. Get some rest. And a bath.” he said, with a small laugh. His eyes shone for a moment and the light of Molly’s resolve went out.

“Come in, please,” she whispered, stepping forward to grab his elbow.   
“You know, I can’t,” he whispered back. His hands were not leaving his pockets.   
“I’ll take the ring off,” she said, “I know it bothers you.”  
“You can’t take it off just because it _bothers_ you,” he scoffed, “Even _I_ know that.”  
“I’ll take it off— if _you_ take it off, I won’t put it back,” she said.

They stared hard at each other, her hand still firmly on his elbow, and his hands obstinately in his pockets.

“Take it off. And it stays off.” she said, almost daring him.

His hands twitched, itching to reach for her hand. The offer was tempting, but Sherlock bowed his head and nodded pensively.

“I think you might have had too much to drink too,” he said with a smile as he stepped back, away from her grasp.

“Sherlock—”  
“Goodnight, Molly,” he said, turning to make for the stairs, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

His footsteps eventually turned to echoes, and soon disappeared completely. Not moving from her spot and staring down the stairway, Molly fiddled with the ring on her finger. She pressed it so hard she could feel the edge of the gem cut into her skin.

“You always say such horrible things,” she whispered into thin air. “Always, always.”

**END**


End file.
